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“I shouldn’t have asked him in that way,” she explained to her brother afterwards, “if he hadn’t been rather shy. One must be nice to foreigners, and dear Dickie’s society undiluted would bore me to extinction.”

“I don’t think we had better give him a knife at dinner,” remarked Bertie. “I shouldn’t like you to be scalped, darling. It would ruin your prospects. I suppose my only course would be to insist upon his marrying you forthwith.”

“Bertie, you’re a beast!” said his sister tersely.

* * * * *

“We have taken you at your word, you see,” sang out Dick Culver from his punt. “I hope you haven’t thought better of it by any chance, for my friend has been able to think of nothing else all day.”

A slim white figure danced eagerly out of the tiny dining-saloon of the house-boat.

“Come on board!” she cried hospitably. “The Badger will see to your punt. I am glad you’re not late.”

She held out her hand to the new-comer with a pretty lack of ceremony. He looked more than ever like a backwoodsman, but it was quite evident that he was pleased with his surroundings. He shook hands with her almost reverently, and smiled in a quiet, well-satisfied way. But, having nothing to say, he did not vex himself to put it into words–a trait which strongly appealed to Hilary.

“His name,” said Dick Culver, laughing at his cousin over the big man’s shoulder, “is Jacques. He has another, but, as nobody ever uses it, it isn’t to the point, and I never was good at pronunciation. He is a French Canadian, with a dash of Yankee thrown in. He is of a peaceable disposition except when roused, when all his friends find it advisable to give him a wide berth. He–“

“That’ll do, my dear fellow,” softly interposed the stranger, with a gentle lift of the elbow in Culver’s direction. “Leave Miss St. Orme to find out the rest for herself! I hope she is not easily alarmed.”

“Not at all, I assure you,” said Hilary. “Never mind Dick! No one does. Come inside!”

She led the way with light feet. Her exile from London during the season promised to be less deadly than she had anticipated. Unmistakably she liked Dick’s wild man.

They found Bertie in the little roselit saloon, and as he welcomed the stranger Culver drew Hilary aside. There was much mystery on his comical face.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he murmured; “this fellow is a great chief in his own country, but he doesn’t want anyone to know it. He’s coming here to learn a little of our ways, and he’s particularly interested in English women, so be nice to him.”

“I thought you said he was a French Canadian,” said Hilary.

“That’s what he wants to appear,” said Culver. “And, anyhow, he had a Yankee mother. I know that for a fact. He’s quite civilised, you know. You needn’t be afraid of him.”

“Afraid!” exclaimed Hilary.

Turning, she found the new-comer looking at her with brown eyes that were soft under the bushy brows.

“He can’t be a red man,” she said to herself. “He hasn’t got the cheek-bones.”

Leaving Dick to amuse himself, she smiled upon her other guest with winning graciousness and forthwith began the dainty task of initiating him into the ways of English women.

She was relieved to find that, notwithstanding his hairy appearance, he was, as Dick had assured her, quite civilised. As the meal proceeded she suddenly conceived an interest in Canada and the States, which had never before possessed her. She questioned him with growing eagerness, and he replied with a smile and always that half-reverent, half-shy courtliness that had first attracted her. Undoubtedly he was a pleasant companion. He clothed the information for which she asked in careful and picturesque language. He was ready at any moment to render any service, however slight, but his attentions were so unobtrusive that Hilary could not but accept them with pleasure. She maintained her pretty graciousness throughout dinner, anxious to set him at his ease.